


windmill, windmill

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, a bit of Anya/Clarke, band au, past mentions of Finn/Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a fallout with some band members, Clarke Griffin struggles to rebuild her band with two outsiders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. feel good

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys this wouldn't have been possible without this rad art work (http://systemflaw.tumblr.com/post/113238743284/the-100-au-octavia-raven-clarke-lexa-and-anya) that inspired me to write something creatively which hasn't happened since the 5th grade. so yes this is my first fanfiction and constructive criticism or just regular criticism would be appreciated!

The club is heady, dimmed lights flashing through the mass of whirling bodies spilling drinks on the backs of strangers; half-faces being illuminated for just long enough to see the sweat shimmering off their disorientated crazed faces. Nothing could be heard over the combination of muffled chatter and some top 40 hit that the DJ thought appropriate to deafen the club goers.

 

On the shallow raised stage, people in black finished setting up several instruments, twisting the mics, flipping switches, connecting switchboards, until one raised a thumb to the station and disappeared. Music faded out as the DJ’s smooth voice echoed across the establishment.

 

“Please turn your attention to the stage as we welcome the second band of the night, ARK! And remember, drinks are half off when you request one of my business cards… Available on most nights unless I feel like chilling…” He removed his headphones and hung them on the side, stepping down and heading to the bar.

The crowd all faced the stage, excited murmuring nowhere near the decibel level of before. A few minutes passed, and half of the crowd dispersed, now ordering a drink at the bar or heading off to find a more lively spot.

 

Suddenly, figures came from backstage, three women¾ taking place at the drums, synths, and microphone. They didn’t look like a band ready for performance, heads down and faces tear streaked. The bass and guitar remained unclaimed, and the singer looked back at them worriedly. Her stage presence was clearly shown, exemplified by her hard stare and confident pose, but her usually composed face was contorted with anxiety. Shaking it off the best that she could, she turned to the crowd and spoke into the mic.

 

“Hey! We’re ARK!” The drummer scoffed and hit the high tom-tom in disagreement, wiping her drying face. The singer turned to glare at her, then spoke again:

 

“We’re just going to uh, jump into this I guess. Raven?”

 

Raven, the synth player, gave a quick thumbs up, and heavy bass lines reverberated. Octavia came in on the fourth measure, and Clarke stared at the ceiling, not ready for the looks that were sure to come from the crowd during this performance. They would sound like shit with only three fifths of their group.

 

_15 minutes before showtime…_

“I swear to God, Clarke, I will walk out of this fucking door!” A long haired man gestured wildly toward the door, making his point clearer for the girl sitting on the couch in front of him. A taller, freckled man stood back on the opposite wall, head tilted back in eyes closed in annoyance.

 

“Finn we don’t have time for this we go up in 15, we can talk about this like civilized people after our set!” Clarke spoke fiercly, staring resolutely at the man who was now pacing back and forth in anger.

  
“You told me that we could play _my_ songs tonight but judging from this!! I guess I’ll just have to wait another few months!” The set list was crumpled in Finn’s clenched fist until it was thrown, hitting the girl sitting in the chair adjacent to the couch.

 

“Fuck you, asshole.” Octavia whipped the set list back at him, Finn flipping the bird as the paper sailed past him.

 

“I’m sorry I made that promise, but we still have to test out this crowd! It’s our second time here, and we can’t risk losing a future gig! We have to think about this logistically!” Clarke was up on her feet now, arms crossed across her navy leather jacket, strands of light hair escaping and falling in front of her face.

 

“We started playing music together because we wanted to, and we did whatever we wanted. The whole point of performing is so that we get to do what we want! The point of having no manager is so we aren’t confined! You’re acting like you own this band, it’s the classic cocky lead singer syndrome. I’m not playing if we’re not playing my songs.” Finn reached past Clarke, picked his bag off of the ground, slung it over his shoulder, and strode out of the door.

 

“Finn!!” Clarke raced out after him. She grabbed his arm to pull his fastly retreating figure around to face her. “Do you even realize how selfish you’re being? I’m sorry that we can’t play your songs, but they’re not ready and this isn’t exactly the crowd to be trying out math rock songs to… Maybe when we play that indie joint next week but right now I need you to perform with us.” Her blue eyes were gleaming with desperation despite the night covering most of her face in shadows.

 

Finn sighed, pulling his bag up on his shoulder. “I’m sorry Clarke, but I can’t be apart of something where I don’t feel like I’m appreciated. I already talked to some of the guys and we’re meeting to practice this weekend. I was going to tell you before but I didn’t want it to throw you off. That was when I thought we were playing my songs.”

 

He scoffed, and then looked over Clarke to watch Bellamy walk out. Octavia followed, screaming obscenities at her brother, smacking his shoulder and pulling on his backpack, but he just continued walking with a straight face.

 

“Oh fuck. Don’t tell me you brainwashed Bell into joining your Confederate band?!” Clarke’s voice cracked as she realized what a hopeless situation she was in. “What the hell are we going to do without a guitarist or a bassist??”

 

“Sorry Clarke, I think Finn is right on this one. We should be playing unique music if we have the talent, and not waste it on emo songs pandering to the masses.” Bellamy grimaced as he walked up next to Finn. Clarke put her arm around Octavia, stilling her from possibly ripping everyone’s faces off. Finn stared at her, eyes cold, so unlike the warm ones she had spent hours gazing into, and walked out of the alley onto the street. Bellamy gave her a sympathetic look and followed him. Octavia chucked a glass bottle at the retreating figures, and it shattered on the sidewalk, missing their feet.

 

Clarke wiped angry tears from her face, careful not to smudge her makeup, and lead the sobbing girl to the door.

 

“Come on, we’re going on soon.”

 

“We’re still playing?? We’re missing two members! We can’t really play without a guitar. Bass, yes, probably it’s just a glorified version of the drums, but really Clarke, we’ll sound like shit.” They entered the building just as Raven ended her conversation with the club’s performance manager.

 

“Yea but we’re being paid. Raven, they’re gone. We’re going to need extra beats to try and save our asses. It’s going to be embarrassing, but as I reiterate, we’re getting paid.” Clarke quickly fixed her hair in the mirror and turned to flash a reassuring smile at the two. “It’ll be fine!”

\-----

It wasn’t fine. ARK’s performance went down in history as one the E.A.R.T.H.’s worst sets ever, only being slightly better than when Monty and Jasper took their Theremins up. Which is why Clarke, Raven and Octavia were in the corner of the bar, fifteen empty shot glasses in front of them all. Octavia laid her head down in her hands and groaned.

 

“We’re never going to live that down. I’m going to have to change my name, move to Bomont, start a revolution about dance…”

 

“I tried my best with the beats I just kind of forgot about the demo tracks that were embedded in them…” Raven ordered another three shots, grimacing as she remembered the sudden techno pop that started playing in the middle of one of their songs.

  
“We just need to find new members.” Clarke knocked back the shot that was put in front of her. “There are plenty of musicians dying to be in bands and we’re reaallly cool.” She turned around in her stool, surveying the crowd for anyone that might look… musician-ish.

 

“Everyone here heard us play. They think we suck! We do suck but not as bad as that!” Octavia stands from her seat, holding onto Raven’s shoulder for support. “We need a new location. I think I know where.” Her eyes were glinting with the kind of mischeviousness that both Raven and Clarke knew couldn’t be stopped.

 

“God help us.” Raven folded her hands in mock prayer, downing both her and Octavia’s untouched shot, before following the other girl through the crowd.

 

“Andddd we’re going right now. Excellent. Drunk adventures through the city at 2 am never end badly.” Clarke sighed and left a twenty, not caring if it was enough for the tab, she was drunk.

\-----

Outside, Octavia was running as fast as her drunken legs could take her, Raven close behind, Clarke lagging several hundred feet away. She really couldn’t see them anymore, the lights were blurring together, faces passed indiscriminately. Her raised boots weren’t exactly suited for drunk-stumbling-running after bandmates, who, in fact, she couldn’t see anymore. She stopped, placing her hands on her knees, catching her breath as she scanned the area.

 

“Clarke! Over here!” Raven’s voice called out from seemingly all directions. Clarke whipped her head around, blurry vision not aiding her. A tug on her arm pulled her into the side alleyway, up against Raven’s chest.

 

“Octavia is already inside. God that girl has amazing motor skills when she’s wasted. You, on the other hand, should probably sit down.” Clarke was grasping the sides of Raven’s shirt, leaning her head on her shoulder.

 

“Come on, we have to find Octavia. Apparently this is the place she thinks we can find new members. How we’re going to recruit anyone when we’re like this, I have no idea.” Raven walks down a flight of stairs that Clarke hadn’t noticed until now. She follows Raven into a dark hallway, reaching out to use the wall for support.

 

It’s sticky.

 

They reach a door with a large, intimidating bald man in front of it.

 

“Hey.” Raven nods her head, a calm demeanor slipping over her body as she acted like she belonged. The man was unresponsive.

 

“Hey guys!” Octavia’s face appears from the doorway, followed ungracefully by her body, and the strong bald man offers an arm for her to steady herself on. “Lincoln, this is Raven and Clarke. My bandmates.” Octavia giggles as she leans against his strong frame. “And guys, this is Lincoln. He’s the guy I met the other day. He’s the bouncer for this club.”

 

“Obviously.” Clarke states, pushing past Octavia as Raven follows. “Thanks!”

 

This club was different than any Clarke had entered before. Of course, there was still the blasting music and dim lights, but it seemed more focused, like everyone there had a common goal. The music that was playing wasn’t exactly Top 40, but it had a fast beat and the audience was obviously enjoying it as most of the people were dancing wildly in the center. There movements were not erratic, they were concentrated, different dance moves being repeated often. The dancers were dressed similarly, some had painted faces, and mostly all had intricate braids in their hair.

 

“I didn’t know Octavia was into cults…”Raven whispers to Clarke, moving closer as she realizes the strange scenario surrounding them.

 

“This is sketchy and weird, but I’m too drunk to care honestly.” Clarke sits at the bar, her second today, orders a drink, and looks around. The atmosphere is odd, everyone seems to know each other, and conversations are intense and quick. Raven comes up behind her.

 

“I’m going to go scope more of this place out. I want to see how their sound system works. I’ll be back, are you staying here?”

 

Clarke nodded as she thanked the bartender for her drink, watching Raven disappear into the undulating crowd. She rotates on her seat, taking out her phone and checking her notifications. One missed call from her mom, a text from Bellamy that seemed like an essay, and four favorites on her tweet subtly bashing Finn. Her breath is cut short when she thinks about him, when she thinks about the god-awful set, and promptly orders another drink.

 

“Hey, I’ll have a snakebite.” A light voice from her let side made her look up. An attractive woman was sitting in the seat next to her, long light brown hair with blonde streaks and cheekbones that looked like they were carved out of marble. Clarke blushes, alcohol fueling her system, heat encompassing her body. She returns back to her phone, stuck between interaction and keeping to herself. (Un?)fortunately, the choice is made for her when the women leans over and says:

 

“You’ve never been here before? You’re on your phone, which means you’ve never experienced Tondc before.” She smirks at Clarke before downing her shot and immediately ordering another one.

 

“Yea, um, my friend Octavia dragged us here after we left E.A.R.T.H. It’s different.” Clarke looks into the woman’s angled eyes, hoping the darkness would hide her blush.

 

“There’s no other club like this. But you don’t seem drunk enough. Let me buy you a drink?” The woman was already waving the bartender over. Once she had ordered drinks, actually, many, many drinks now that Clarke thinks about it, she turns back to her. “I’m Anya. It’s nice to meet you.” The drinks arrived, and Anya hands one to Clarke.

 

She smiles and takes a sip. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

\-----

Clarke is drunk. Very drunk. She wouldn’t say that she was too drunk, because Clarke Griffin never gets too drunk, she’s always functional and rational and definitely not grinding on a woman she just met an hour ago. Then again, she did just have the worst performance of her life, so maybe she was allowed to get too drunk. Her and Anya have been dancing for maybe three songs, their bodies getting closer and closer as the crowd grew, now Clarke’s backside is pressed up against Anya’s front, Anya’s hands on her hips pushing back. Clarke is used to dancing with random strangers while totally shit faced, but none like Anya, who’s slender body came around to press against Clarke’s front, her face close to hers, slender arms drawn around Clarke’s neck.

 

The music stopped. Their bodies were still flush with each other, but Anya’s head whipped around to survey the area. She grabbed Clarke by the arm and pulled her throw the crowd. Attempted to, at least. As soon as the atmosphere stilled, the dancers scattered, pushing and pulling past people in a scurry to reach the nearest exits. The bright, florescent lights flashed on, and through her hazy vision Clarke could see flashing lights outside of the high basement windows. People rushing around her, toppling over one another to escape through the doors combined with her drunken vision did nothing to alleviate Clarke’s confusion. Anya was still dragging her straight ahead, but when reaching a wall, she vanished.

 

Someone tugged on her pants and she almost stumbled, but looking down she could see the faint outline of Anya’s head. Clarke glanced at the mostly empty establishment before jumping down into the hole. Her ankle twisted as she hit the ground, even though it was a very, very shallow area. She managed to catch herself with her hands, feeling the scraping pain as her palms dug into the graveled ground. Anya was already up ahead, area around her illuminated by her phone flashlight.

 

“Hurry up!” Her voice was harsh, unlike the soft whispers Clarke had received before, and it suddenly struck her that she was alone in a dark tunnel with a stranger who might be involved with illicit activities. Why else would the police show up? If it were a regular, registered club, the cops would have no business busting in.

 

Clarke pulled herself up and jogged towards Anya, her ankle throbbing but not limiting her movement.

 

They continued on in silence, the tunnel expanding into small rooms at some points, getting thinner in other areas.

 

“So.” Clarke spoke, her voice hoarse, a mixture of dehydration and prolonged silence. “How illegal was that place?”

 

The woman in front of her stops, turns around, shadowed face glaring from the flashlight, eyes narrowed in annoyance and disgust.

 

“Don’t make assumptions. I’m sorry you were inconvenienced. You should not have come here tonight. Things like this happen here. With us.” Her mouth quirked slightly before she turned around and began searching for something on the left wall.

 

“I have no problem with you, or anyone who was at that club. Maybe Octavia, since she thought we would be able to find replacements here. I bet that was all bullshit, she wanted to see Lincoln…” Clarke trailed off, realizing that Anya wasn’t listening, that she didn’t care. Instead, she pulled out her phone, reading forgotten texts from Raven and Octavia, telling her they were safe, asking where she was, notifying her that they were at the coffee shop near their shared apartment. Before she could reply, Anya jerked her toward the door she had seemed to find out of nowhere and led her through.

 

They exited into an alleyway, Anya closing the metal door behind them and dusting off her pants. Outside, Anya seemed taller, seemed broader, seemed way more intimidating than Clarke had imagined.

 

“Where are we?” Clarke looked up at Anya, only to find her retreating towards the street. This was the second time she had raced down an alley tonight, Clarke noted not to make a habit of it. “You can’t just get a girl wasted and help her escape from a club bust or whatever the hell that was and then just leave her in an alleyway!”

 

“I’ll get you a taxi.” Anya responded in a monotone voice, raising a hand up to the street. Within 30 seconds, a yellow cab was parked on the curb. “Here.” She pushed a wad of cash into Clarke’s hand. With a light push, Clarke was in the backseat.

 

“My partner and I are performing tomorrow at 3 pm. I wrote the information down for you.” Anya leaned down and dropped a crumpled paper on Clarke’s lap. “I read your texts about needing replacements. I’m willing to help you, but it needs to be organic for my guitarist. Get home” She slammed the door, rattling the car and Clarke.

 

Clarke blinked. Anya looked at her phone. Clarke’s eyes narrowed as she reached for her wallet. Opening it, all of her cash was gone. So that’s why Anya gave her cab money. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window, stomach lurching every time the driver made a turn.

 

“Fuck this.” Clarke whispered.

 

 

 


	2. send me down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a playlist that fits the music style of the music they're playing kind of and the song for this chapter is  
> send me down by haim.

A hand reached out for the glass of water perched on the nightstand, slender fingers wrapping around it before it was raised up to chapped lips. Clarke thanked her past self for placing an Advil next to the glass before swallowing, the capsule falling uncomfortably down her throat. She drags her hand across her mouth, rising from her bed and walking to the bathroom. Raven has left a note on the mirror: _Went to the bakery! Will be back with donuts! Hope you wake up early enough to grab some!_ Clarke’s mouth upturned as she scanned the words, and then checked the time; it was only 10. She never slept in too late anymore, having become accustomed with staying out late most nights and waking up early enough to get to her classes or work, and that trait didn’t sway when she had no obligations.

 

Finishing in the bathroom, Clarke walked to the living room dressed in sweats and her shirt from last night, which still smelled like harsh alcohol and sweet sweat. Octavia and Raven were on the small couch covered in a blanket. Both of them were holding disposable coffee mugs and another was on the small coffee table resting next to an open doughnut box, presumable for Clarke. Some Sunday morning cartoon was playing so they didn’t turn their heads until Clarke positioned herself on the floor between them, back resting against the couch. She helped herself to a plain bagel and grabbed the cup, sipping it tentatively, wincing when the cold sweet liquid entered her mouth.

 

“It’s been sitting out for a while.” Raven explained, still fixated on the screen flashing bright colors. She had eaten half of a glazed doughnut, the other half hanging from her raised hand. Octavia reached out and took it, never once glancing from the tv.

 

Clarke smiled at her roommates. Raven and Octavia had been her closest friends since freshman year of college, where they all lived in the same small, crappy dormitory. Sharing space with her best friends involved wine night sleepovers, passive aggressive sticky notes, occasional screaming matches (almost always wrongfully directed towards Clarke, according to her rebuttals), and frequent jam sessions. They had shaped each others lives, Clarke thought while recalling the events from last night. Finn walking out, Bellamy following him like usual, regret painted on his freckled face as he said goodbye to Octavia.

 

It wasn’t that dramatic, Clarke knew, but it was sudden and worst of all, it was her fault. She was unyielding, thinking of how the band could be successful. Finn shouldn’t have expected her to risk everything in favor of more obscure, technical music. When the three of them first decided to start performing in public places instead of their dorm rooms, Clarke had been determined to give it her all. She didn’t care if they didn’t end up rich and famous, but she wanted to be respected for their skill, and they were; well, up until last night.

 

“Has Bellamy sent his apology essay yet?” Clarke turned off the TV to the tune of Raven and Octavia’s groans, narrowing her eyes when Raven tried reaching for the remote.

 

“Yea, I think it was a record length. Here, you can read it.” Octavia hands her phone over to Clarke, who skims through Bellamy’s record breaking apology.

 

“He has decent points, that doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.” Octavia knew it wasn’t Bellamy that they were mad at, he was never fully invested in the future of the band. He was more interested in playing music, specifically with Finn.

 

“Bellamy and Finn work well together. Bell would have been useless if he stayed with us. No offense Octavia.” Clarke handed the phone back while simultaneously taking hers out of her pocket. Seeing what was on the screen she let out a harsh laugh and shoved it under Raven’s nose.

 

As Raven took in the meaning of ‘@Finn__Fender94 favorited your tweet!’, her lips spread into a smile as she rolled her eyes.

 

“Maybe liking your subtweet is his way of saying he wants to apologize.” Raven became somber, her smile transforming into a sad one.

 

“Whatever. It was a long time coming. And we were always the core so I’m not worried.” Octavia reputed, her jaw tense.

 

“I guess I was so blindsided by our performances and rehearsals I didn’t really consider if they liked making music with us.” Clarke stood up and grabbed the pastry box. “I found someone who might be interested in checking us out.”

 

“From what I heard, she was only interested in checking you out.” Octavia called out to Clarke, who was now in the kitchen storing the leftover doughnuts.

 

“She was more interested in my wallet than anything.” Not that it held much; a college kid paying a high rent doesn’t carry around much, and Anya had sent her with a cab, more help than Octavia.

 

The girl on the couch smiled secretly. “Lincoln warned me about her. Sorry for that. She invited you to the café today I assume?”

 

Clarke leaned on the kitchen archway. “I assume that you directed her towards me.”

 

“Not sorry about that.” Octavia unfolded herself from the couch, lean arms reaching for the blanket and carrying it over her shoulder.

 

“We should start getting ready.” Raven passed Clarke, nudging her with her shoulder on her way to her room.

 

Octavia followed, “You know, because we’re about to recruit new band members.”

 

“It’s funny how she thought we didn’t know what we were doing.” Raven directly addressed Octavia before dipping inside her door.

 

“‘Oh, guys, let’s run into this sketchy bar! I totally don’t know what I’m doing!’” Octavia’s voice rose in mockery of Clarke, something that the singer was unfortunately, used to. “Please. As if I wouldn’t have planned for Finn’s betrayal. I knew it was going to happen.

 

“You both knew about her? Did you know that she would steal from me?” Clarke’s abrasive voice ripped through the banter, tinged with amusement as she strode down the hall to her room.

 

“Mmmhm, you just underestimate us. Better work on that.” Raven replied as Octavia nodded her head in agreement.

 

“Fuckers.” Clarke flipped the bird before promptly closing her door.

 

\-----

 

“So Lincoln and Anya and this… Lexa girl are all friends and somehow involved in a weird underground hippie fad?” Clarke’s voice came out rushed, half due to her trying to comprehend the situation, half because Octavia and Raven were keeping a fast pace.

 

Octavia’s bright eyes flashed back, her hair pulled back into similar styled braids Clarke had witnessed the night before at the club.

 

“Basically. I mean, you know the weird musician cliques that form. But theirs has been around for a long time. You can liken it to a type of secret society.” Raven and Octavia rounded a corner, catching Clarke off guard.

 

“Great I love secret societies they never turn out to be weird.” Clarke’s monotone sarcasm lacked the grace of Raven’s quips or Octavia’s general wit, but her character was just enough to get a half-hearted chuckle out of her companion’s mouths.

 

“You don’t have to subscribe to anything. Octavia just likes the braids.” Raven moved closer to Clarke while Octavia turned down another street.

 

“They’re stylish.” She opened the door to a small café, tucked into a small corner with a small stage and small seats. The exposed cement walls gave it a bunker type feel, offset by the dim mood lighting and excited murmur among the patrons.

 

The three girls sat down at a circle table in the middle, facing the small stage set up on one wall. Clarke fiddled nervously with her sleeves, quickly counting the exits and ways of escape. Octavia waved some of Lincoln’s friends over and began talking so fast, using terms that flew by Clarke’s comprehension.

 

Anya came out from a door to Clarke’s left; escape option number three, and stepped onto the raised floor that constituted as the stage. An acoustic six stringed bass was clasped under her right arm, moving into proper position as she perched herself on the stool.

 

Clarke remembered Anya as a shadowed face at the bar, lithe figure dancing around her. Intimidating, but approachable. Clarke supposes that Anya was putting on an act to get closer to Clarke, to lure her into a web of money stealing and secret band plans. This Anya was wearing a blood red tanktop underneath a tight fitting leather jacket, her eyes dark and heavily eye shadowed. Cheekbones still as sharp, nose still as slanted, Clarke still as overwhelmed.

 

Heavy rings sat on Anya’s slim fingers as she slowly began plucking notes. One was a cat’s head, drawn eyes similar to its owners, one was a sharks jaw on a hinge that open and closed slightly when Anya pulled pack too hard.

 

Clarke was too distracted by the rings on Anya’s increasingly fast fingers to notice the second performer take a seat on the stool adjacent to the bass player. It wasn’t until a light fingerpick melody drifted out that Clarke turned her head to observe Anya’s partner.

 

Her eyes fell on her guitar first, twisting, intricate lines spiraled around the wooden body, two curves coming out and attaching to the neck where carefully placed fingers were moving in a more rhythmic pattern than any technique Clarke had seen before. Finn, despite his love for music, could only perform the simplest tasks on guitar. No matter how much he practiced, his playing seemed sloppy, but for the time being, it had worked.

 

If anyone had asked Raven and Octavia about Clarke in the following minutes, they would tell of how her mouth remained open and her eyes fixated on Lexa for the entire performance. Clarke would then refute any such claim, state that she was just admiring her musical talents.

 

What she was really entranced with was the level of intensity on the guitarists face. Her green grey eyes flickered from her hands on the frets to Anya’s face, communicating tempo or key changes through small nods of her head. Her curly dark brown hair was pulled up in a tight bun with no strands escaping. Her full, curved lips that parted ever so slightly when she changed chords softened the sharp edges of her face. The rest of her was intimidation, black leather pants and dark grey jacket with red accents. Upscale clothes refined to feel worn and thrifty, contrasting with Anya’s simple tanktop and khakis. Despite their opposing styles of dress, their playing was perfectly in sync, yet upholding the individuality needed for unique performances. Clarke couldn’t pinpoint the exact kind of music anymore, she just knew that she craved it, the fast paced melodies off set by Anya’s ringed fingers banging on the hollow body of her bass, a chanting rhythm that captivated everyone in the audience.

 

The song ended and the guitarist immediately looked up to where Clarke was sitting. Heavy lined dark eyes attached to Clarke’s wide bye eyed ones, until Clarke looked away to Octavia and Raven, who were watching with raised eyebrows.

 

Clarke cleared her throat. It was dry, considering she had forgotten to swallow in the past few minutes.

 

“I like their sound.”

 

Octavia and Raven just looked at each other, smiles speaking unspoken words. They knew what Clarke was thinking, and both reveled in the satisfaction of their plan working.

 

“We’ll be playing a few more songs. I’m Lexa and this is Anya.” Clarke turned her attention to Lexa, _Lexa_ , who was addressing the audience with a light, monotone voice. Anya switched out her six string to a regular electric bass while Lexa adjusted the microphone up to her mouth.

 

Clarke was expecting banter in this kind of intimate performance, some connection between the performers and the audience, but Lexa remained stoic, fiddling with her tuning pegs. A brief glance was exchanged between Anya and Lexa, and then they resumed.

 

It was different from the random, rhythmic patterned jam before; now Clarke realizes that that has been their version of warming up, improvisation held to the same respect as practiced performance. Clarke thought she had heard the song before, familiar chords became apparent as the song progressed.

 

And then Lexa opened her mouth to sing, and an instant rush of heat ran through Clarke. Sparks ran down her spine, straightening it as her jaw clenched and hands spread out as evenly as she could. Lexa was good at singing. That was an understatement. Lexa’s voice was unlike any she had heard, high and clear, soft and melancholy, and unfortunately, on par with Clarke’s.

 

Clarke wouldn’t call herself a jealous person, she just knew that her voice was rather impeccable and unique, that people thoroughly enjoy her voice, and she’s always been the lead singer. She can play a few chords on the guitar, enough to perform a stripped down mash up of popular R&B songs when she’s drunk enough, but her forte laid in her voice.

 

Lexa was apparently a musical genius and could entrance the tiny café with almost no personal connection established with the audience.

 

Clarke didn’t look at the performers for the rest of their set. Sometimes, she could feel the guitarist glancing at her table during the short lulls in songs. She ordered a coffee, went to the bathroom, liked her relative’s pictures on Facebook, folded an origami crane, just to avoid any semblance of contact with the performers. Raven and Octavia were like everyone else in the location: utterly entranced by Lexa and her dumb, stupid, better than Clarke’s voice.

 

Not that Lexa was better than her. She probably couldn’t hold a note for as long as Clarke, or match pitch as well. Clarke’s competitiveness stemmed from a regulated and stressful family life, and Clarke fully acknowledged that, but she let it fuel her, always striving for the most respected position. Winning art contests in school, being respected by (most) of her friends, heading a band while managing it; Clarke was more than just a competent person.

 

Anya and Clarke’s newfound rival stepped off the stage and through the back, taking their instruments with them.

 

“Wow.” Raven exclaimed, the word rushing from her mouth as if she was breathless.

 

“They’re just what we need!” Octavia was scrambling to find them, to introduce herself, but Clarke pulled her hand down.

 

“No. They seem too close to want to join another group. We can just reformat our songs. Raven can do more with the synth.” Clarke’s lips pulled down in a scowl.

 

“Come on, Anya totally wanted you to see this. Why would she ask you to come if she wasn’t interested in us? We’re going around to the back to introduce ourselves. Lincoln already set everything up we have access!” Raven left the table, pushed her chair under it with some kind of exasperated hand gesture, and dipped out where the performers had left. Octavia shrugged, her way of agreeing with Raven, and followed her, leaving Clarke alone at the table.

 

If she resigned herself and went with them, she would have to confront the beautiful guitarist, the one with the damn good voice, the one who could easily take over her position since she seemed to be gifted in every sphere of musicality. And she had the face for it. Well it might scare some people. Her voice would make up for it. Not many people had the ability to enrapture a crowd as well as Lexa did, and Clarke envied her for that. Clarke’s talent stemmed from the band dynamic, it came from banter with her bandmates in between songs, the music being an offshoot of that.

 

Resigning to her eventual fate, Clarke stood up from the table and followed Octavia’s shadow, navigating through dark tight passageways to a more open area, a black room with instruments scattered about, two stools similar to the ones on the stage, and to her disgust, a large, plush cheetah print chair posed directly in the middle.

 

Raven and Octavia were not in the room so Clarke walked over to the far side of the room, looking for an exit. _If they were another alleyway…_

 

“You are Clarke?” A voice caused Clarke to turn around, standing up tall and crossing her arms when she saw that is was Lexa who spoke.

 

“Yes. Have you seen Raven and Octavia anywhere? I assume you know them because they seem to have set this up.”

 

Lexa’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I do not know who you are referring to.”

 

“They came back here looking for you and Anya.” Clarke continued looking for an exit, or any clue to where her friends were. “They want you to join our band.”

 

“Anya did mention something about that. I didn’t pay attention, because there isn’t a chance of it happening.” Lexa took a seat on the cheetah print chair, her dark figure opposing humorously with the bright background. A phone started beeping. Clarke’s.

 

“Good. I didn’t agree with them anyways.” Clarke retorted, but Lexa had picked up a book and had started ignoring her. Looking down on her phone, Clarke saw that Octavia had texted her.

 

3:45 pm: _hey we r outside w/Anya discussing rehearsal times_

 

3:45 pm: _O, I never agreed to anything. ill be right there dont sign anything wtf_

“I guess we don’t have a choice in this. They’re already planning rehearsals.” Clarke sighed, tucking her phone away and walking towards the exit, conveniently placed in a location where she had mislooked it. She could hear the light thud of Lexa’s boots behind her, but didn’t make conversation. She didn’t think Lexa was the small-talk type, for some reason.

 

She heard her friends talking before she opened the door, right into… yea another alley. Why do musicians like alleyways so much. Anya, Octavia and Raven were in a triangle formation, chuckling and acting like they had known each other for years.

 

“Hey Clarke! Weren’t Lexa and Anya just awesome!” Octavia stated, lifting her eyebrows up and smiling widely. Raven stood beside her, expression similar, but more smirky, in her ravenesque way. Anya just had an infuriating smile on her face, smugness showing through.

 

“They were.” Clarke wasn’t a liar, when it came to talent. “So when were you going to tell me that you were planning a coup?”

 

“Clarke, nobody tells anyone that they’re going to perform a coup, that’s the whole point of a coup. And it wasn’t a coup, it was just… an action performed preemptively… for the good of the band.” Raven shrugged while looking between Lexa and Clarke who shared the same unamused expression.

 

Anya piped up, “We set the rehearsal times for 4 pm everyday, since we have a lot of catching up to do. It’s between your class times” she looks pointedly at Lexa, who looks down and scuffles her foot “and our work schedules. Since you guys don’t have a place, we can practice here.” She points towards the building adjacent to the café.

 

“We haven’t even played together, why are we planning rehearsal times?” Lexa spoke for the first time since coming outside, fists clenched and jaw set. Clarke felt the way she looked, tense and heated.

 

“Look, I know that you guys are on the rocks, especially since each of your bands have fallen apart, but that what will make this work. We share similar audiences, and have enough talent to make it. Also, all female groups are just rad in general.” Octavia said all of this while typing on her phone. “There’s a fest in two weeks that I think we could make a good impression in, and we were both going to go to them anyways.”

 

Anya turned to both Clarke and Lexa, face stern but eyes excited. “Just give it a chance. If the majority thinks it will work, it will work. Besides, it would be great to get a higher rating that Costia’s or Finn’s group, right?”

 

Clarke and Lexa locked eyes, the hazel and blue simultaneously open but locked, each looking for a chance to trust the other.

 

After a weird long amount of time, Lexa finally broke eye contact and uttered a single word, “Fine. At least I won’t have to sing anymore.”

 

Oh. Good. They weren’t trying to replace her. Clarke finally smiled as she looked at Octavia and Raven. “We should give it a shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating in a long(ish) time! spring break, then i was sick, and then school, and then i was sick again, so you know.

**Author's Note:**

> cosima-niehaus.tumblr.com


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